I adore mistakes,the way they slip off my tonguein that baby blue way,innocent.

Sometimes I considersliding these blemishes in betweenthe lettersof the words I write,just so nothing could beperfect,and I can savor the taste ofwasting awayin this cliché English language(until you come after me withbig vocabularies anddictionaries,claiming I'm sinning againstthe god(s) of literature).

So insteadI run my tongue downbloody knees,licking away the "accidental"trip I tookon concrete.

Some people sayI'm a shy step away frominsanity,but I like to think of it as(flawed) ecstasy.

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